


The Deep Road

by Thorinsmut



Series: Free Orcs AU [5]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AU: Erebor never fell, AU: free orcs, Bilbo likes languages, Complete, Genderfluid Character, M/M, Nonbinary Dwarves, Travel, and making friends, the ring will find Bilbo in any AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-13 19:46:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1238668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorinsmut/pseuds/Thorinsmut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erebor never fell. </p><p>Bilbo Baggins is traveling with Bofur to visit Erebor. At the suggestion of a friendly group of free Orc traders, they decide to take the Deep Road through the Misty Mountains instead of climbing over - but there is something evil moving in the darkness deep beneath the mountains... </p><p>A sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1174894/chapters/2393990"><em>not a promise</em></a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sting

They were traveling long hours, hoping to be able to to get over the Misty Mountains before the weather turned, so it was beginning to get dark when they started to think of making a camp. After their very lovely trip to the Blue Mountains together, Bilbo was very happy to keep traveling with Bofur and his family to see Erebor. He didn’t particularly want to still be traveling when winter set in, but the long hours were a bit _wearing_.

Lari, who tended to take point, held up his hand for silence – Lari _was_ he today, Bilbo was getting better at picking up the subtle differences in how Lari presented.

The warrior listened hard for a moment, then adjusted his warhammer to be sure it was easy in its harness and dropped his pack. He nodded to Bilbo, who gave Bofur’s hand a squeeze and let go to follow him.

Lari was serious about teaching Bilbo to be a scout for them. Bilbo wasn’t sure how good he’d ever be at it, though _was_ very good at being quiet and unnoticed if he wanted to be.

They crept toward the sounds of a camp together, seeing the slight flickering of a campfire.

Lari stopped them in the trees, still well hidden but with a view of the camp. Bilbo wasn’t exactly sure _what_ he was seeing, maybe a race of Men he was unfamiliar with? They were hunched around their fire, their armor spiky and their language all full of sharp edges – what little Bilbo could hear of it from this distance.

“Orcs…” Lari whispered, the southern Dwarf’s face grim. Bilbo shrank against his side, stomach twisting. Orcs were terrible dangerous monsters, weren’t they? He’d heard that there were good Orcs, that Erebor even traded with them, but he’s still never wanted to _meet_ one. Lari, never one to coddle anyone, gave his shoulder a brief squeeze and gestured him to follow as he crept closer.

The Orcs were cooking something in a pot over the fire, one of them ladling out servings into bowls, which they passed around.

“…free Orcs.” Lari breathed after a while, something about them seeming to tell him, and his shoulders relaxed. “Let’s get the others.”

Bilbo followed silently behind as they slipped back and away, and didn’t speak up until they were safely out of earshot.

“Are we _really_ going to share a camp with Orcs?” he asked nervously.

“…maybe.” Lari answered, “We’ll see what they’re like. Most free Orcs are alright – they’re just traders like any others.”

“Small camp of free Orcs, with only two Wargs.” Lari told Bifur and Bofur, “We could take them if we had to.”

“Are you sure we _should_ …” Bofur asked worriedly, his eyes traveling to Bilbo. It was true that if there was a fight Bilbo wouldn’t know the first thing to do.

“We’ll have Bilbo hide until we know it’s safe,” Bifur said. “but it makes sense to share the fire if we can.”

 

It was actually incredibly boring.

Bilbo hid out in the trees while Lari and Bifur and Bofur did the meeting and greeting of the Orcs. Both groups puffed themselves up and swaggered, looking each other over, but once they’d established that both groups were peaceful travelers they all relaxed a bit.

It wasn’t too long before the sharp-faced Orc who did most of the talking invited the Dwarves to share the campfire for the evening.

Bilbo crept around quietly out in the dark while Bofur started cooking dinner without him and Bifur and Lari began showing off some of their toymaking to a few of the Orcs. It was only after they’d made a small sale that Bifur mentioned that they _might_ have another member to their group.

“Took you long enough to mention, I thought you’d forgotten me!” Bilbo sniffed, stepping out of the shadows to join Bofur. He’d not added _nearly_ enough garlic to the food, and Bilbo snuggled up to his Dwarf’s side and set about rectifying that while the Orcs laughed at Bifur’s embarrassment.

“The Wargs scented a fourth.” the main Orc smiled, sharp toothed, “Wondered when you’d bring him out.”

“We had to be sure it was safe.” Lari explained, and it didn’t seem the Orcs took any offense. They were all watching Bilbo with an intensity that was really quite uncomfortable. They had seemed _normal_ enough, despite how strange they looked, and Bilbo trusted the Dwarves’ judgment, but he would rather not be the center of attention like that.

They were all rather large and sharp, and made him feel a bit like a bunny surrounded by terriers.

He smiled at everyone, to be polite, and worked on rescuing the dinner Bofur had been making. Bofur’s arm around him helped. He knew he was safe, with Bofur.

“If I can ask…” the main Orc said, “ _You’re_ not a Dwarf…”

That wasn’t exactly a _question_ , but Bilbo answered it anyway.

“Bilbo Baggins, Hobbit of the Shire, at your service.” He smiled, and the Orcs murmured to each other in surprise.

“Well met. I’m Laazg.” the main Orc answered,

“Laazg.” Bilbo repeated, trying to get the accent right, Laazg repeated the name and smiled when when Bilbo got it right. The trick was to say it like you were trying to bite it.

“I’ve heard of your kind, but never seen one before.” Laazg said.

“Yes, most Hobbits do stay home in the Shire,” Bilbo agreed, “but _someone_ had to look after these three – a little more salt, Bofur.” he finished in an aside to his chuckling love, Bofur’s warm brown eyes were sparkling at him the way they did when the Dwarf thought he was being _sassy_.

Bilbo subtly elbowed him to get him to shut up.

At least it seemed to have assuaged the majority of the Orcs’ curiosity, and they didn’t stare so hard anymore. The shared camp was at peace as Bilbo and Bofur cooked and Lari and Bifur began casually arguing about the construction of a the new toy they were working on together.

The Orcs were making a second pot of food, the scent rich and savory and unfamiliar, and Bilbo elbowed Bofur when they started serving it up and passing it around.

“ _They_ know there’s supposed to be more than one evening meal!” Bilbo pointed out, and the Dwarves all groaned at the old argument.

They were _wrong_ of course, and Bilbo was sure he could eventually talk them around to a proper six meal a day schedule. The Orcs had not heard his arguments yet, though, and at their obvious curiosity he _had_ to fill them in.

Bilbo loved Bofur, and he liked Lari and Bifur a great deal too – but it _was_ nice to have new people to talk to now and then, too.

The Orcs weren’t so scary after all.

 

Lari snuggled Bifur against his side and watched the Hobbit make friends with Orcs. He wouldn’t have expected it of Bilbo, but he was _always_ full of surprises.

Not to be underestimated, their Hobbit.

Bofur was fretting a bit, but he was hiding it well. The Orcs, for their part, seemed enamored of Bilbo. He’d lectured them on the benefits of eating six meals a day, traded tastes of their respective meals with the Orc’s cook, gotten into an in-depth discussion about spices – and now he was learning Orcish.

It was absolutely _adorable_ to watch little Bilbo learn to growl and snap out the hard sounds of Orc speech, and it seemed the Orcs thought so too. He had them gathered around him, all smiling as they corrected his pronunciation and offered him new words.

It shouldn’t have been surprising that Bilbo wanted to learn Orcish – with his love of languages.

“He’s a sweet little thing.” Laazg commented quietly to Lari.

“He’s not available.” Lari answered, and Laazg snorted a short laugh, sharp teeth bared.

“Not what I meant – he reminds me of my youngest.” the Orc soothed. “…but he travels unarmed?”

“He can fight if he must, but Hobbits are peaceful creatures.” Lari answered. “We haven’t found a weapon he _likes_ yet.” It was something that bothered him, as the warrior in their group, that Bilbo did not go armed. He was deadly with a thrown rock – they ate rabbits and birds Bilbo caught that way often enough as they traveled – but in a fight he’d have to rely on stealth and nothing else. Bilbo had refused any of the weapons they’d suggested to him so far.

Laazg made a considering sound, head tilted to the side, watching Bilbo, “We might have something to suit him… give you a good price…”

“I’m not sure he’d like Orc work any more than he liked Dwarf smithing.” Lari said, not wanting to reject the offer offhand – but he just couldn’t picture Bilbo with a spiked Orcish weapon.

“Not Orc.” Laazg said. With a few quick words in Orcish a few other Orcs scattered to go through packs – they found what they were looking for quickly and one of them brought Laazg a leather-wrapped bundle.

“Bilbo, here.” Laazg called, and Bilbo bounced over curiously to see. The Orc untied the string, but did not unwrap it, handing it to Bilbo instead.

It was a small dagger, leaf-shaped and glowing blue. Laazg flinched from it slightly, but was enough of a professional trader to power through it.

“It’s Elf-made, very old. You can tell Elven smithing from the glow, nothing else does that.” Laazg explained, “Thought it might suit you.”

“It’ll glow whenever Orcs are near.” Bifur supplied, and in the brief stillness of Laazg at his side Lari realized that _the Orc hadn’t known_. But then, why _should_ an Orc know that Elven blades only glowed when they were near? They would never see one that wasn’t glowing.

“A blade that glows when friends are near.” Laazg covered smoothly, “Do you like it?”

“It’s… hmm…” Bilbo pondered, giving it an experimental swing, “It’s very _light_ , and the shape’s pretty.” It was _by far_ the highest praise Bilbo had given to a weapon yet.

“How much?” Lari asked, giving Bifur a nudge so he’d know it was his turn. He was the best haggler among them.

“Oh, I don’t really need…” Bilbo started, but Lari stopped him with a shake of his head.

“I want you armed.” He said, “If you want an Elvish blade, you’ll have an Elvish blade… if the price is right.”

Laazg was smiling, knowing that the sale was almost assured now, “I’ll give you a good price, for _Bilbo_.” And Bifur switched places with Lari to take care of the haggling while Bilbo examined the new knife that would be his soon, figuring out how to attach the sheath to his belt.

 

Bilbo settled comfortably into Bofur’s arms in their shared bedroll, sighing happily. It had been a lovely evening, overall, even if they’d all ended up staying up later than they’d probably intended. The story of how the Orcs had defeated a trio of Trolls in the Ettenmoors and found Bilbo’s new sword in their hoard was _very_ entertaining. They’d found a few other swords too, they claimed, famous Elvish blades the Council of Elders in Gundabad was likely to give to their allies as presents.

The Orcs had traveled up and down and all over and were heading home to Gundabad now. Bilbo had mentioned they were going to Erebor – and only realized when Bofur winced that he wasn’t supposed to mention their destination – but that had worked out in their favor too. Laazg had suggested they take the Deep Road _through_ the Misty Mountains rather than going up and over.

There was, apparently, a series of tunnels going clear through the mountains that would cut _weeks_ off their travel time. When asked if it was safe, Laazg had assured them that the only Orcs they’d meet on it were free Orcs.

“Be careful, though.” Asht, the oldest of the Orcs warned – the milky-blind ruined eye on one side gave Bilbo the shivers, especially when turned toward him, but of course he was too polite to show it. “There’s something, something _bad_ moving deep in the darkness below the mountains…”

“That’s just superstitious nonsense.” Laazg countered. There _would_ be some dangers on the Deep Road, but Laazg assured them that it was – overall – safer to go under than over the mountains.

Despite Bilbo’s initial reservations, sharing a camp with the Orcs had turned out to be a _very_ good decision. Bilbo enjoyed making new friends, and learning a new language was always fascinating. The Orcs had been very eager teachers.

Bofur gently stroked the side of Bilbo’s face.

“I like to see you having fun.” he said, and Bilbo nuzzled forward to kiss him, warm and safe and close-cuddly in their blankets.

He couldn’t think of anything in the world he’d like better than to have adventures with Bofur and meet new people all across Middle Earth forever and ever.


	2. the one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a short chapter

“It's got an Elvish knife, but it isn't an Elvses. It's got Dwarvish braids but it isn't a Dwarvses. What is it? What _is_ it?”

 

“What... have I got in my pocket?”

 

“Thief!”


	3. glow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A blade that glows when friends are near

Bilbo ran, the echoing shriek of “Thief! We hates it forever!” chasing him.

He ran, stumbling through the dark with his heart in his throat and ignoring the throb of his ankle with every step. The entire right side of his body was bruised, but Bilbo pushed through and _ran_.

The only other choice was being eaten whole by that… _creature_. He didn’t make Bilbo’s blade glow, so he wasn’t an Orc, but Bilbo had no idea what he could _be_.

Dangerous, that much was clear.

They’d been hiking along in the gloom of the Deep Road, following the marked tunnels. It had been easy traveling, if a little depressing to be so far away from the sun – not that Bofur or Bifur and Lari seemed to be affected by that.

They’d been hiking along in the gloom, and then there had been crashing and falling and pain – Lari and Bifur and Bofur weren’t complaining of _their_ hurts, though, so Bilbo hadn’t either. They’d agreed that the path had been intentionally sabotaged – trapped – and didn’t want to wait around to see by who or what. They’d been following Bofur because he had the best senses underground, finding a way out.

But Bilbo couldn’t see in the dark the way the Dwarves could, and he couldn’t sense the stone the way they could, and his ankle had begun to hurt more and more as they rushed along and he was on the end of the line and he _fell._

They would _never_ have left him behind, but he’d landed on his bruised ribs and the pain had driven him breathless. He hadn’t even been able to call out to them as they hurried on.

He’d _tried_ to rush and catch up, but he must have taken a wrong path in the dark and he was _lost_.

And when he was found, it was by the creature who’d sabotaged the path and it was only by quick talking and bluffing with a sword he didn’t actually know how to use – and the luck of a funny little ring that seemed to turn him invisible – that Bilbo had survived.

Bilbo ran blindly on in the dark until he couldn’t hear the pursuit anymore and the adrenaline of fear stopped being stronger than the pain of his ankle.

He took the ring off to get rid of the disorienting echoes and gray wind and limped along, trying to keep his weight off his ankle as much as he could.

He wasn’t sure, really, why he bothered. He could have been going in circles for all he knew. He had _no_ sense of direction under the mountains.

But he couldn’t just _give up_. He had to be brave and hope that he would, somehow, survive this and find his Bofur again.

Somehow.

He had to be brave, and keep trying, even though it seemed most likely that he’d die of thirst and hunger all alone in the dark – or fall again without Bofur to curl around him and cushion his fall this time – or be found by the _Gollum_ creature again.

Adventures were _dangerous_ , Bofur had told him time and again, but Bilbo hadn’t really believed it before. He hadn’t thought there was _anything_ in the world that could threaten him, not with his Dwarves to protect him.

His Dwarves were gone and he was _lost_ , alone in the dark.

Bilbo had _never_ felt so small – he was the _right_ size, thanks – and if he was any bigger he would have gotten stuck in some of these smaller passages – but he _felt_ small. He was just a Hobbit, barely out of his tweens and not even grown into respectable roundness yet, far smaller than the Dwarves who were supposed to protect him, hurt and lost alone in the dark, deep beneath a mountain where no Hobbit was ever meant to be. He might _never_ see his Bofur, or his parents, or the soft green hills of the Shire ever again.

Bilbo rubbed at his eyes with one grubby sleeve and tried _very hard_ not to cry, to be brave, as he limped slowly along in the dark because there was nothing else to _do_.

 

There was no way of knowing how long he’d been walking, no way to tell time, just that he ached clear through and his water had run out some time ago.

It took Bilbo a while, in his exhaustion, to realize he was seeing his way better. When he _did_ notice, his first wild hope was that there was a way _out_. He spun around, searching for the source, not realizing until he twisted around and saw his own shadow that the source was in his hand.

His sword was glowing, faint blue in the dark.

Bilbo clung to it, tracing a battered fingertip along the flat of the blade.

He was not alone, he was _not alone_ , there were Orcs somewhere nearby, and Bilbo could nearly cry for gratitude. For Laazg for thinking to offer him a blade that glowed when friends were near, for Lari convincing him to get it, for Bifur cheerfully haggling it down into their price range.

The glow was _very_ faint, it had been far brighter when they were sharing a camp with Laazg and the other Orcs. Bilbo could only hope that meant it would glow brighter the closer he got.

“Guide me to them.” he whispered to the glowing blade, “Guide me to friends.”

He limped on, a little faster, clinging to one tiny hope.

 

“Hullo?” Bilbo called, seeing the bobbing of a lantern and hunched spiky shadows around it. He’d walked and _walked_ and climbed _up_ with strength he wasn’t sure where he’d gotten and now he was in paths that seemed more like the maintained tunnels he’d been hiking in with Bofur and Bifur and Lari – following the glow of his blade.

He’d put the sword away of course – you do _not_ go asking for help with a naked weapon in your hand – and he remembered how uncomfortable the blade had made the Orcs.

In an instant he was surrounded in a semicircle - and they were all very big and sharp and well armed and _staring_ at him – and Bilbo didn’t even have Bofur to lean against this time.

But he had to be brave and just _hope_ that Laazg had been right and there _were_ only free Orcs in the Deep Road.

 _"Ghûlum khl-izg.”_ Bilbo asked, remembering the words Laazg had told him – asking them for help in their own language. “Please.” he added. “I’m lost.”

The Orcs were exclaiming to each other in their language too fast for Bilbo to catch any words until the oldest one – gray-skinned and heavily scarred – gestured them all to silence.

“What _are_ you?” Bilbo was asked sharply, “How did you find the Deep Road? How do you know our _words_?”

“I am Bilbo Baggins, a Hobbit from the Shire.” He answered, “ We shared a camp with Laazg…” what was it had Laazg claimed as a full title and told him to use if he ever needed help? “Laazg _balt-baiarkob._ I was taught a few words and Laazg suggested the Deep Road to our group – but the path was sabotaged and we fell… and I’ve lost my Dwarves…”

How was he ever going to find them again? Even if he got out of here, how would he even start looking for them?

The Orcs were exclaiming at each other again, but the eldest cut them off again.

“I am Golb.” The gray-skinned Orc introduced, “and we will give our help to a friend of _balt-baiark_.”

Tears of relief prickled at the corners of Bilbo’s eyes as he limped forward a step to clasp Golb’s claw-nailed hand.

“ _Thank you_.” he said, looking up into wide orange-brown eyes – and he meant it with his whole heart.


	4. akrumlob

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the Orcs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, there should be mouseover translations of the Orcish for your reading pleasure.

The Orcs were lovely people, they really were.

There were four of them, a tight-knit little group, and they took good care of Bilbo.

Golb wrapped Bilbo's ankle for him, snugly, so it did not hurt nearly so much. All his scrapes were carefully tended, as they pressed him for the entire story – which he told them. They exclaimed in wonder when they realized which path of the Deep Road he'd been on to begin with.

“You're _far_ from where you began.” Golb explained, but pressed a fingertip gently against his cheek – the gesture odd but comforting – when Bilbo worried how he'd _ever_ find his Dwarves again.

“We'll find them.” Golb promised.

They gave him a spicy ginger-beer to drink, _bulmos akrum_ , that soothed his thirst much more than plain water would have.

They fed him – though it was just dried meat and hard bread travel rations since there was no firewood to be had beneath the mountains.

Aklash, the largest of them, gave Bilbo an arm to lean on as he walked. He could have managed on his own with a walking stick, but there were no walking sticks to be found on the Deep Road. They had offered to carry him, claiming that carrying something as small as him would be no hardship, but he'd declined as politely as he could.

He was much more comfortable on his own feet.

Bilbo kept himself busy in their company, learning as much of their language as he could and helping where he was able. Âmbal was the most interested in teaching him, and often traded off with Aklash to lend Bilbo an arm unless they were going up stairs or other rough terrain where Bilbo needed more support. The Orcs assured him that they _would_ find Bofur and Lari and Bifur, but Bilbo still worried about it if he let his mind wander.

Daul was the quietest of them, and Bilbo suspected also the youngest. Daul looked to Golb, wide-eyed, when Bilbo offered to help grind the dried spices to make the _bulmos akrum_ they brewed every day.

Bilbo apologized, worried he'd caused some offense, but Golb gestured Daul away and sat with Bilbo to teach him personally.

It was _far_ more than just grinding spices and mixing them with water and sugar and a piece of the jellylike culture mother.

“Y'have to _respect_ her, to make the _bulmos akrum_.” Golb explained, and told stories in a gravel-rough voice as Bilbo carefully ground the spices in a mortar as instructed. The scarred Orc told of death-marches – across deserts where the only water was fouled with salt and alkali and undrinkable – through disease-ridden bogs where the water was full of mud and rot and mosquito larva– stories of when the only water to drink was fouled with the corpses of battle, or poisoned by an enemy, or too foul to drink in any number of ways.

“...but we had the _bulmos akrum_.” Golb said, “We always had our _akrumlob_ , and she purified the waters so the Orcs could drink. She kept us strong and cared for us, so we'd _live_ when we could've died. In the deepest despair we always had the _bulmos akrum_ , and the Wargs, and each other.”

Golb breathed deep, looking into the vessel Bilbo had filled with spices and sugar and water as directed. Aklash and Âmbal and Daul were gathered around close, listening too.

“Then we starved.” Golb said, quietly. “We were finally free. No more marches, no more battles, the waters of Gundabad were clean, but we starved and died. We had no food for ourselves, and we had no way to get sugar or spice. Our _akrumlob_ , who carried us for so long, died. Every last piece.”

“There were years where we were stripped bare of her, and we mourned. We mourned, but we're Orcs. We _survived_ , and grew strong, and we traded – and when we were ready she came back to us. Our _akrumlob_ came to us in the hands of a refugee, and we grew her _strong_ again.”

Bilbo looked down at the spice and water in the vessel, at the unassuming mass of the _akrumlob_ in the vessel she had already worked in – that they would be drinking soon – and then back at his own hands folded in his lap. He swallowed hard around the lump in his throat.

Golb tipped his chin up to look at his face, and nodded.

“With respect...” Golb said, tapping him in the chest gently with two fingers, “and gratitude. Move her.” Golb gestured him to it, and Bilbo did. He gently scooped the thick jellylike _akrumlob_ from her vessel and reverently placed her in the new one.

“Good.” Golb said, tone gentle, picking up the vessel that was now ready for drinking. “Drink with us, Bilbo Baggins.”

“I am honored.” Bilbo said quietly. He'd not understood before what they offered him.

 

The Orcs were lovely people.

When Bilbo woke from nightmares of being left behind, of falling, of wandering in the dark forever, of _not_ escaping the Gollum creature – they petted his hair and reassured him that they _would_ find his Dwarves until he could sleep again. Aklash even sang for him, voice rough but melodic.

Bilbo kept himself distracted from his worry and the pain of his bruises and the oppressive weight of the darkness of the mountains by learning Orcish and listening to the Orcs' stories. Rarely, Golb told him pieces of the history of the free Orcs, and it broke his heart. A few days in – or, at least, after a few times of stopping to sleep – Bilbo was confident enough to start trying to construct sentences in Orcish. Âmbal and Daul were _very_ entertained as they corrected his grammar, he tended to put things backward or pluralize the wrong word and make sentences that only _almost_ made sense.

He was absolutely appalled when he discovered that Orcish had only _one_ word for flower, that they were all just called the color they were and - _lûl_. It didn't make _any_ sense, and he told them so at length. Even Golb was laughing at him by the end.

They gave him a nickname, _Gashnal-gaz_ , and it took him half a day to parse out that it meant the equivalent of 'little chatterbox'. He didn't mind it though, because they said it affectionately.

In the quiet of an evening they taught him the words for family relationships. Golb was _mother_ , Aklash and Âmbal were _sisters_ and _daughters_ , Daul was _son_ and _brother_ – and Bilbo held the words close to his heart. He could _see_ how precious they were – the same way the Dwarves always called Lari _he_ in the villages of Men even when Lari was feeling more _she_ that day, because they never knew if it was safe. They told him because they trusted him not to tell.

Bilbo walked on and on with the Orcs, following the marked passages, until they came to a hollow chamber with a big hide drum in the middle.

Daul immediately dropped his pack to inspect it, adjusting the tensioners to his liking – then nodded to Golb and pounded out a complex rhythm that echoed deafeningly through the chamber. Bilbo had to clap his hands over his ears.

“What did?” Bilbo asked gesturing at the drum when the ringing had cleared from his ears, watching the Orcs set up the meager camp right there. It was impossible to tell time under the mountain, but he could _swear_ they hadn't walked nearly as far as they usually did.

“We wait here.” Golb said, “If someone's seen your Dwarves, we'll hear of it.”

Drum messages through the depths of the mountains. It was _ingenious_ , but they would not teach him even the simplest of the rhythms. It was a thing that was only for Orcs, the way the Dwarves' language was only for Dwarves and they would not teach him.

Aklash gestured them all to silence as the first of the answers began rolling in, and Bilbo hearing it realized there had been messages passing through the mountain the entire time, distant rumbles he'd not realized weren't just the sound of the rock.

Negative answer after negative answer rolled in, and Golb tucked Bilbo close to her side the way she might have one of her own children when he began to fret.

“What if they never made it out?” Bilbo whispered to her, “They didn't have an Elvish blade to guide them to friends.”

The scarred Orc gently petted his hair, stroking her claws through his curls.

“You can't lose a Dwarf underground.” Golb assured him, “They _can't_ get lost under the mountains – they're far more dangerous foes underground than above. They'll be looking for you.”

Only the _last_ sentence sounded unsure, when it was the only one Bilbo was sure of – that his Dwarves would _never_ stop looking for him while they lived.

He just didn't know if they _had_.

 

Bilbo wasn't sure when he'd fallen asleep, but he was woken up by Daul shaking his shoulder with a smile full of big sharp teeth.

“ _Found them_.” he said, speaking slowly and carefully in Orcish so Bilbo could follow, “ _Only a few days away_.”

Bilbo couldn't help himself, he jumped to his feet and threw his arms around the wiry Orc in a hug.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” he gushed, releasing him to grin at the others, “Can we start now?”

“Of course.” Golb said, and she was laughing at his eagerness but Bilbo didn't mind.

“ _They're looking for you_.” Âmbal told him, “ _Searching everywhere._ ”

“ _I knew they would.”_ Bilbo answered in Orcish – and he'd only got it a _little_ wrong when they corrected him.

The Orcs gathered up their little camp. Aklash offered Bilbo her arm, and they set out to go to his Dwarves.

Soon, soon he would be with his Bofur again – and Bifur and Lari too - and everything would be _right_ again.

Soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter turned out longer than expected - so there will be _one_ more after this.


	5. the reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How have the Dwarves been doing this whole time?

Bofur would never forgive himself.

Never, not if he lived as long as Durin herself.

He should _never_ have let go of Bilbo’s hand, not for an instant. They’d walked the Blue Mountains together, hand in hand, Bilbo and Bofur. They’d walked back together, and quick as their courtship had been, as new as their relationship was, Bofur didn’t know what to _do_ with himself when he wasn’t walking with Bilbo’s hand in his anymore.

He’d walked beside his Hobbit, his sweet wide-eyed Bilbo, and lead him into the Deep Road. They’d walked together in the dark, hand in hand, until the moment they were in the most danger.

Bofur should _never_ have let go of Bilbo’s hand.

He’d let him go to feel out the path ahead, to lead his family out of where they’d fallen, and when he’d turned back around Bilbo was _gone_.

And Bofur would never forgive himself as long as he lived.

Bilbo, his wonderful little Bilbo, had _trusted_ him to keep him safe.

Bofur would _never_ be able to face Belladonna and Bungo. He would never be able to face _himself_ again.

He should never have taken Bilbo out of the Shire. Bilbo was fun and clever and beautiful, and Bofur never wanted to be away from him, but he should never have taken Bilbo out of the Shire. He was just a little Hobbit, barely more than a child. He was not a Dwarf, not a warrior. He was a Hobbit, as bright and ephemeral as a flower, and a plucked flower _died_.

Bofur had plucked Bilbo from the Shire, and now Bilbo was…

Bofur would keep looking. He would keep looking if it took a thousand years.

Bofur would _never_ leave without Bilbo, even if every day they looked made it less and less likely they’d find him still _alive_. He could see the resignation in Lari’s grim expression, in Bifur’s sorrowful eyes – behind the deep purple shiner Bofur had given him for not holding onto Bilbo at the end of the line. Bofur might have blackened _both_ his eyes and worse if Lari hadn’t tackled him, restrained him through the first wild flush of his anger.

They were _all_ looking for Bilbo. Bifur and Lari loved Bilbo nearly as much as Bofur did. None of them wanted him lost.

They would _all three_ look for Bilbo for as long as it took. They wouldn’t stop. They were _Dwarves_ and if anyone knew persistence it was _them_. They had a system, and they would search every single crevasse of the stone under this entire _mountain_ if that’s what it took.

“No sign.” Bifur said. Bofur turned his face away from his cousin’s sympathy and _tried_ not to think of a tiny desiccated corpse alone in the dark.

There _was_ water here and there under the mountain, if Bilbo had found some he might survive a bit longer yet…

He couldn’t feel it out though, the way a Dwarf could. Bilbo was lost and blind in the dark – how _could_ he have survived even this long? He was not a Dwarf to _endure_.

Bofur would never _never_ forgive himself, not as long as he lived.

He looked up at Lari’s step, but the grim expression on her face told him everything he needed to know.

Still nothing, and they’d have to search _further_ from where they’d started.

Distantly Bofur could hear the sound of a group of Orcs approaching on the path, see the shadows from their lamp. Bofur threw Lari a desperate look – he didn’t have it in him to explain _again_ what Dwarves were doing in the Deep Road.

She nodded and began to step past him, only to freeze with her eyes going wide while Bifur made an inarticulate garbled noise. Before Bofur could ask them what was wrong, before he could turn to look at the Orcs, he heard it.

“Bofur!”

The most _beautiful_ sound in the world, his name in his Hobbit’s voice.

Bofur spun to face it just in time to be tackled, hit full in the chest with a Hobbit hard enough to knock him onto his arse.

His arms came up all on their own to wrap around his little Bilbo, his perfect little sapling of a Hobbit, because his brain hadn’t caught up yet. Bilbo’s arms were tight around his neck, holding him close while kisses peppered his face all over.

“Oh Bofur! Bofur, I missed you so much! I was so scared you wouldn’t find a way out! I love you, I love you, I knew you’d be looking for me!” Bilbo babbled, big gray-blue eyes bright with tears.

“Bilbo…” Bofur managed. His Bilbo, _his Bilbo,_ was alright. He was safe. He was _here_ , and Bofur’s throat choked on his relief.

“Love!” he gasped, clinging to his Bilbo who was _alive_. “I’m _so sorry_ , I’ll _never_ let you go again.” He sobbed, and he held tight to his Hobbit, and _nothing_ else mattered.

 

“Let me go, Bofur.” Bilbo said eventually, once neither of them was crying anymore. He tried squirming away, but Bofur’s arms tightened on instinct.

“ _Never_.” he answered, and Bilbo subsided with a sigh.

“This is going to make life _very interesting_ , I’m sure.” Bilbo said dryly, “Getting dressed will be quite the challenge. How we’ll walk, I don't know.”

“I thought I’d _lost_ you.” Bofur answered, only a _little_ defensively. He’d _lost_ his Hobbit, wasn’t he due a little closeness?

“And I lost you, love, but I’d like to thank the friends who took care of me and brought me to you before they leave.” Bilbo said… and he _was_ talking sense. Bofur looked up, beyond the most important Hobbit in the world, to see Bifur and Lari engaging a small group of Orcs in a conversation. Now that he thought of it, he had been hearing talk of how the path had been sabotaged and mentions that the Orcs would be sweeping through and making it safe again.

“There’ve been losses on the Road, recently, small ones.” the heavily scarred gray one was telling Lari, “Nobody else’s lived to tell of the creature, though. Some of the sensitive ones say there’s been evil moving in the dark. We’ll clear it out.”

“Creature?” Bofur asked, his arms tightening around Bilbo again.

“It was fine. I ran away.” Bilbo assured him, and Bofur knew he’d have to press him for the full story – but another time. He kissed Bilbo’s sweet soft lips one last time and let him go to thank the Orcs.

Bofur never thought he’d be _grateful_ to Orcs.

Bilbo was limping slightly, his foot bandaged as if for a sprained ankle, as he went up to the Orcs completely fearlessly.

He spoke in Orcish – and of _course_ Bilbo would have taken the chance to learn more of the language – and the Orcs smiled at him with sharp teeth and ruffled his curls with clawed hands as they answered him in the same. It twisted something in Bofur’s gut to see Bilbo with Orcs, he wanted to wrap him up and keep him safe from them, but that wasn’t fair.

Without them, Bilbo might not even be alive.

Bilbo pressed cheeks with each of the Orcs in turn, “You’re sure you won’t travel with us?” he asked, to soft chuckles in answer.

“We’re not going the same way.” he was answered, and he nodded to them, his eyes a little bright.

Bilbo nuzzled his cheek the longest against the scarred Orc’s cheek. “I am in your debt, Golb _flauth-baiarkob_.” he said seriously, and the gray-skinned Orc nodded to him.

“Be careful in the world.” the smallest said, “Not _all_ Orcs are friends.”

“Mordor slaves would kill you before you could even speak.” the largest warned.

“They’d eat you and fight over your bones.” the gray one, Golb, added grimly, “Mordor slaves’re always starving… there’s _never_ enough food.”

“I’ll be careful.” Bilbo promised, “I _will_ write to you in Gundabad. You can write to me in the Shire, I’ll get the letters whenever we’re passing through.”

Golb touched a fingertip to Bilbo’s soft cheek, the gesture and the Orc’s expression both tender. They _cared_ for Bilbo, of _course_ they did, who could resist him?

“I’m in your debt too.” Bofur said, he’d picked himself up so he wasn’t sitting on the ground to address them, “If there’s ever anything I can do for you and yours – Bofur son of Aldur and Borgny is at your service.” He used the names of both Amad and Ushar, so he could be found with family in either the Blue Mountains or Erebor. He reached out and took Bilbo’s warm little hand in his, squeezed it tight.

“Thank you.” He said, meeting all their eyes. They were _Orcs_ , but they had taken care of Bilbo when Bofur failed, and he would be grateful forever.

“Take care of him.” Golb charged him, seriously, and Bofur nodded.

“I won’t let him go.” he promised.

There were only a few more words exchanged, just a few more affectionate touches between Bilbo and the Orcs – and they were gone.

And it was just Bilbo and Bofur, hand in hand the way they belonged no matter _where_ in the world they found themselves.

Bilbo looked up at him, tired and dirty and still smiling at him, “I’m ready to be out from under the mountains now.” He said.

 

Bilbo lay warm and safe in Bofur’s arms, cradled close.

It was _so good_ to be back where he belonged, even if he did miss Golb and Aklash and Âmbal and Daul. He would have liked to learn more about them. They had become very good friends, despite how short their acquaintance was.

Bofur snored evenly against his back, and Bilbo’s fingers found their way into his waistcoat pocket to pet the little gold ring.

He’d told the whole story, and he _had_ intended to tell about the odd ring, but somehow it just hadn’t come up.

But then… why _should_ he tell anyone?

It could be his little secret, couldn’t it? He wasn’t a warrior like his Dwarves were, and the world outside the Shire was a very dangerous place. All he had in a fight was stealth – why shouldn’t he hold onto any advantage he could find?

He could help his Dwarves _so much_ more with the advantage of the ring. He might actually become a decent scout for them. There was no reason to tell them.

None at all.

Bilbo slipped his fingers out of his pocket and securely buttoned it before squirming around into a more comfortable position in Bofur’s arms. He nuzzled into Bofur’s chest to breathe his familiar beloved scent of rock and warm metal, relaxing into a more restful sleep than he’d had since they were separated.

It was _good_ to be back where he belonged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Fin_


End file.
